


From The Ashes

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Genderfluid John Laurens, M/M, New Year's Eve, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Other, Overdosing, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Pact, Trans Alexander Hamilton, just general pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He knew he shouldn't be encouraging this. He knew he should stop. He knew he should say no. We can't do this. We have to stop. We shouldn't be doing this.He pops open the cap regardless.





	From The Ashes

New Year's Eve. It was always the time the fireworks began, that people hosted parties, caused general mayhem. Some spent it quiet with loved ones, some went partying with people they didn't know the first name of, some drank themselves so stupid they didn't remember anything past their splitting headache the next morning.

John always drank on holidays. He spent them alone, told his friends and family he preferred the solitude, that he hated celebrating holidays unless it was Christmas or their birthdays. What he didn't tell them was how tired he was. How he woke up each morning wishing he didn't and buried himself within his work or time spent with them to forget, even for just a moment, that he didn't want to be around anymore. It worked for a while, it did. The distractions were enough to keep such thoughts and needs at bay, to prevent him from doing anything rash when Hercules gave him a grin and a hug after John acted as his model for clothes, when Lafayette pressed a kiss to his forehead after he'd punched someone for them, when Alexander gave him that smile after he made him eat when he hadn't eaten for hours or quite possibly days.

When John felt he had purpose, had to protect and take care of his friends, those thoughts changed. Don't be selfish, don't leave when you know they need you. And of course it wasn't a healthy way to think, neither were his previous thoughts, but he found he just maybe preferred thinking of himself as selfish yet protective rather than a waste of space.

But some days, even some weeks, those thoughts returned when everyone was busy, had their own lives and work to do. John slipped up and told Alex when they were all alone in John's apartment together. Alex slipped up and admitted to such thoughts and broken feelings as well. Throughout everything, they had each other. When they both suffered, they'd learned to recognize that if anyone were to understand and feel the same, it was each other. Even as they crashed, bright as comets, burning hot like a blue fire, couldn't find anything to grab onto to steady themselves from falling further into the pit they'd dug themselves, no voices to scream for the help they knew they needed as their minds went wild, as they slipped further and further.

They both made the mistake of making a deal. A pact to end it. To spare themselves the suffering of life itself, of knowing no one wanted them around, no one needed them. They couldn't convince each other anything otherwise and they knew it. So they both took a different route they should have never taken. On New Year's Eve as the cold night fell, John and Alex sat motionless, alone on John's couch, blankly watching the TV as they watched people party and launch fireworks. Surely Lafayette and Hercules were among the party-goers down there screaming and singing and laughing and drinking.

When the clock struck midnight, John's gaze drew over to Alexander. Alexander didn't meet his gaze, and John kept his gaze there, examined his friends of so many years. His soft hands shaking a little in his lap. They always shook. Years and years of living off coffee and the bare minimum for food left him unsteady and overactive for someone who would die before he gave into admitting he needed to actually exercise. More pronounced cheekbones than usual - when was the last time he'd eaten? John was usually the one to keep track of it, it was surprising he didn't remember. His hair soft as ever beneath John's fingertips. It was amazing how well Alexander took care of his clothes, hair, skin for someone with such issues with eating, or drinking anything that wasn't coffee, or sleeping for that matter. Those dark bags were still under his eyes, proof he hadn't slept in days either. 

He knew he shouldn't be encouraging this. He knew he should stop. He knew he should say no. We can't do this. _We have to stop_. **_We shouldn't be doing this._**

He pops open the cap regardless.

Half of those blue pills went into Alexander's hand. The other half went straight into john's mouth. With a gulp of his beer, down, down, down they went. He couldn't find it in himself to worry, to panic, to regret nor change his mind. Beside him, Alexander was the same. They let go of that ledge and let themselves fall. They didn't scream. They didn't hang onto each other, nor anyone else. They sat there, both feeling as alone as they always had despite being beside one another. It was the one time in their lives they truly felt disconnected. Gazes on their laps as they waited in tense silence. Both knew what they were doing. Neither were going to stop. John felt fear start to turn his stomach along with a dull ache.

When everything went dark and he felt like he was drowning, the fire in his veins becoming ice, he didn't fight back.

The most disappointing part of it all was when Alexander and John woke up again late the next day. John first, then Alex. Eyelids fluttering open, movements slow, sluggish, settling in. The first words from either of them was from Alexander, a rough, spat out, "Fuck," didn't want to be settling into the day. Neither did John. He didn't say a word as they stared at each other.

It seemed to go by like a blur for the rest of the day. John couldn't remember most of the morning. He remembered waking up to see Alex. He remembered watching Alex pace and curse in frustration. Not at all concerned to the fact they likely needed a doctor. Anything beyond that was a blur of movement, of words, of John sitting in dead silence processing.

After so hesitantly giving John a kiss to his forehead, Alexander left. Nothing to say between them. Not now.

He was sluggish and slow with the rest of his day, remembered Alex leaving, didn't remember getting up, didn't remember drinking some water, watching TV, calling Lafayette hours later and asking to spend time with them for a while. Got invited to hang out with he, Alexander and Hercules to talk about the New Year. They'd already spoken to Alexander. John couldn't help but feel relieved. He asked Hercules to pick him up. Said he couldn't drive. Didn't say why. Herc picked him up, John slept most of the ride to Lafayette's despite it being a relatively short ride. It was calming to sit with all three of them together. Something easing in his heart, like using tape to fix a broken glass.

When it came to resolutions, they all spoke of theirs. John could just see Alexander coming up with his resolution on the spot, claimed he wanted to get promoted at work, to take it easy for a while and spend time with them. When everyone's gazes went to John, he tensed up, silent. Then after a full moment, he spoke quiet, slow words that sent their two friends into a panic, that had them dragging both of them out of their chairs, to have them looked at.

"I'd make New Year's resolutions but we didn't really plan on waking up." He'd breathed, staring at Alexander. Alex didn't argue. They deserved to know.

While John and Alexander were being looked over at the hospital, Hercules with Alexander and Lafayette with John, it was silent again, a blur of words, motion, questions he didn't answer. Finally sitting and waiting for more tests, just the two of them, John met Lafayette's gaze, voice barely above a whisper, "I need help." They provided like always. Because they were so trustworthy. Because they never lied to him unless it was something stupid and insignificant. Because he trusted them to do his nails, to tie up his hair for him, to spend time with him when he was down, to hold his hand when he was lost and wipe away his tears when he cried. They were the most mature of their group, the smartest, the more... Adult. The parent of the group, perhaps.

And now he was laying his shattered, taped glass heart in their hands and softly asking for help even as he didn't want to, and they were the one with the glue that'd make the fix more permanent. He knew they could help, because they always did.


End file.
